


Running On Nothing But Hope

by onewasturning



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 10:59:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11988420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onewasturning/pseuds/onewasturning
Summary: Harry looks at the backs of their heads, Niall’s dark hair sticking up in tufts and Jesy’s pulled back and ready for war, and wonders who is of more danger to whom. There are animals there inside all of them. Predators. A wolf that he can feel underneath his skin even now searching for a means to break free.By the time the trees part open to reveal a clearing, the sun has begun to set and all Harry can think of is the terror he knows he is capable of inflicting.Or, as a newly bitten werewolf, Harry tries to find something to believe in while he loses everything, especially his sense of control.





	Running On Nothing But Hope

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is apparently my first foray into lirry, copious amounts of angst, and quite possibly magical realism. You would have to ask Liam about the last one, but Harry's not convinced.
> 
> TW for vague descriptions of violence and assault, and a throwaway line about suicide.

The light plays across Harry’s face, flickering quickly between shadows as the car cruises along the road. It’s bright enough that he can still sense it under the scratching material of his blindfold. 

They’ve been driving for hours on end, since before dawn, with nothing but piss stops in bushes at the side of the road to give him any idea of where they’re heading. They could be in the midlands or down the west coast or in bloody Scotland for all he knows. They could have made it to London and back again. But even if they were halfway across the world, there’s never going to be a place that’s far away enough from what he’s done.

It had been a quick and silent pick up, covert under the ruddied haze of a mid-November sunrise. God, he couldn’t even face his mum. He’d just left a note on the kitchen table with a pathetic _xo_ apology at the bottom, nothing but a hug that lingered a beat too long and a worried look from the night before to give a clue to his leaving. Like there wasn’t guilt running wild and belligerent through him already.

They’d been waiting outside in the frosted air of encroaching winter, taking his holdall and blindfolding him with a bare apology, and ushering him into the car silently. It should have been freezing, but the heat radiating off their bodies had practically melted the air around them. He’s been noticing that lately with increasing dread, how the transformation has stitched itself into his skin like a fever that he can’t break. How, even without the thick fur coat devouring him, the ghost of the wolf inside lingered with tangible insistence. Sometimes it was as if there were still fangs in his mouth biting through his lip.

Then, there was the smell. It had been faint before, the chill dulling his senses, but it’s stronger now in the compact space of the car, filling every crevice. It’s earthy and rich and coats the inside of this mouth like too much salt. 

His body doesn’t seem to know what to do with it. His mind doesn’t know what to do with any of it. Harry had leant his head back against his seat and clasped his hands together and kept quiet. 

The car ride was filled with bluesy folk music on the radio, and light chatter from the two in the front. Once they'd started driving, they’d briefly introduced themselves as Niall and Jesy, explaining that the blindfold was just a safety precaution and not to read anything into it. Harry had wanted to suggest they bind his hands and feet, and maybe muzzle him too, but he could hear Gemma in the back of his head calling him a drama queen. Well, more likely a moody little bitch, but same sentiment, really. Christ, he misses her already.

Time passes in the beat of the tyres. The ground turns from bitumen to gravel to flattened earth beneath them, and soon enough Harry can hear the sounds of branches and leaves whipping the side of the car. The sunlight disappears soon after, and his stomach churns slightly with unease for the first time. He’s been trusting them on a whim and an eloquently typed letter. And yet that’s not the real cause of it.

“You doing alright back there, Harry?” Niall says, turning the radio off as it starts to garble into white noise. “We’re almost there, so you’ll be able to stretch your legs soon enough. I’d give it another minute or so.”

Harry takes a deep breath. “Yep. All fine.”

“You don’t sound fine,” Jesy says, and he can hear her shifting around in her seat. “You’re not getting car sick or anything, are you? You’ll be the one cleaning it up if you do.”

Harry shakes his head, and the car stops before he has to say anything more.

“If you need to vomit, you can get out now,” Jesy says, helpfully.

His car door opens, and he feels Niall’s hands lifting his head off the seat to untie the blindfold. When Harry opens his eyes, the light is muted yet still almost blinding, and he has to blink a few times before his dilated pupils shrink to pinpricks.

“You alright?” Niall asks again, and Harry takes the proffered hand gratefully as he straightens and gets out of the car. He passes Harry a bottle. “Here, have a drink. It’s just water, but there’s some stronger stuff at the base if you need it. I know it can be a little overwhelming at first.”

Harry takes the slightly warm water that’s handed to him. “Cheers.”

He takes a long, slow drink to hide the shaking, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after an unsteady swig. Then he looks up and around them, further than Niall’s expression of concern and Jesy’s wary stance.

They’ve pulled the car up besides a grey rock face, spruces and pines towering over them, dark leaves thickening the canopy above. There’s the sound of water nearby, a stream or a river that’s hidden beyond the rocks and trees, and the air is cool and damp, not yet sharp enough to pierce the thin buttoned shirt that Harry is wearing. There’s not a single trace of human interference besides the tyre tracks that lay behind them.

“We’ve still got a bit of a walk,” Niall says apologetically, handing over Harry’s holdall that he’s retrieved from the boot. “About half an hour, give or take. But we’ve got to cover the car up before we go, make sure it’s out of sight. The last thing we need is someone finding it and towing it away.”

“Or worse, assuming that there are missing people that need finding,” Jesy adds. She’s taken the blindfold and twisted it into a headband to pull back her long hair, and rolled up her sleeves, like the living embodiment of Rosie the Riveter. “So, let’s get on with it. I’m bloody starving and Liam’s cooking his bolognese tonight.”

With a kind of practiced efficiency, they direct Harry to where a grey sheet painted like the rock face has been rolled up and hidden, and they pull it over the car, using branches and scattered pine needles as an artful disguise.

“It’s no good if you get too close,” Niall says when they finish, “but from a distance it’s pretty well camouflaged, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. And it’s unlikely that people would be heading up this way, anyhow.”

“C’mon, boys, less nattering,” Jesy says, with a jerk of her chin. “We better get going before my wolf starts speaking for my stomach.”

With a final look at the track behind them, Harry follows them into the forest. They’re careful, pointing out the safest places for Harry to tread like they’ve done it a hundred times before, and they’re slow enough that Harry can take a good look at their surroundings. It’s not familiar, but he hadn’t expected it to be. It could be any forest in any county in any part of the country.

They head over the rocky crag that juts out like steps, and he can see the source of the sound of running water from the top, a river of deep reflective grey-blue that lies tranquil and unspoilt. They trek downwards, picking their way over steep steps and moss-covered stone until they reach the forest below; hiking over hard ground that’s quickly turning from deep green to brown as the weather cools. Wherever they are, it’s far from any kind of civilisation, shielded by that rocky ledge on one side and the water on the other. Far away enough that no one could hear any howls in the night. Or screams, when he comes to think of it.

Harry looks at the backs of their heads, Niall’s dark hair sticking up in tufts and Jesy’s pulled back and ready for war, and wonders who is of more danger to whom. There are animals there inside all of them. Predators. A wolf that he can feel underneath his skin even now searching for a means to break free.

By the time the trees part open to reveal a clearing, the sun has begun to set and Harry’s thoughts have turned once more to the terror he is capable of inflicting.

*

With his eyes once more adjusting to the dark, the clearing before them begins to take shape. It’s obvious that this is a space that’s been carved out by human hands. He’s taken down a dirt path to an area of flat ground that spreads in a circle from where they stand. In the middle is a large unlit campfire, surrounded by stone, and on the outskirts what looks like wooden cabins beginning to take shape, some of them finished and some still just frames or missing window panes or doors. There’s a larger cabin straight ahead of them, completed and big enough to be a cottage, with candlelight and a menagerie of voices spilling through the windows and across the cold ground. It’s the smell though, thick and heavy and permeating, that nearly makes Harry stop dead in his tracks.

If he’d been encompassed by it with Niall and Jesy in the car, now it’s like his nose has been invaded by it. It’s everywhere, filling his lungs with every breath. It’s raw and drenched in pungent dirt and gravelled sea salt, and something undeniably _animal_. It sinks into him like radiation that demands an immediate reaction to manifest in the racing of his pulse and a transfiguration of his bones. 

The nails on his fingers ache and his gums remember the memory of canines, and the worst thing is how his whole body seems to yearn to be closer to it. His veins seem to sing for it.

He doesn't realise that he’s stopped moving until Jesy takes his elbow impatiently and tugs him forward.

“If you’re having second thoughts, save them for tomorrow, yeah?”

“Don’t say that,” Niall says, walking back. He moves to Harry’s other side. “You remember what it’s like. It’s a lot, that first hit.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Jesy says drily. “It made me want to fight everyone in sight.”

And that might be the exact opposite of what Harry is feeling right now.

Feeling half-drugged, he lets Jesy and Niall lead him to the cottage, the scent becoming stronger with every step, except now it’s mixed in with the smell of bolognese sauce. Inside he can hear chatter and laughter and his whole body tenses, teeth clenching.

“It’ll feel better when you see them,” Niall says. “It’s just excited. Wolves are pack animals, they don’t want to be alone.”

Harry’s sure that he’s read somewhere that packs usually kill lone wolves. But he still nods when Niall looks at him to see if he’s ready for the door to be opened.

Everything stops for a moment when the step inside. The house opens directly up into a small kitchen area lit by a good dozen candles, and it feels warm, cozy even. There’s a boy with floppy hair and tired eyes holding a beer at the table, and a small girl eating crisps next to him. At the sink is one of the biggest blokes Harry’s ever seen doing dishes, and beside him another guy in a flowery apron stirring a pot on the gas stove. 

Harry’s whole body, the wolf that’s buried itself in his flesh, sighs _yes_.

They all turn to look, even though they must have been expecting them all day.

Jesy nudges him forward with a guiding hand, and Niall says, “Everyone, Harry. Harry, everyone,” like he’s introducing a mate to a crowd of old friends.

It’s those manners that have been drilled into Harry since he was a child that has him moving his stiff limbs to shake hands and say hello, until Jesy pulls him to sit down at the table, pushing his bag off to the side, and no-nonsense, pointing around the room, going, “Bressie, Liam, Louis, Jade. For God’s sake, stop gawping at him like a load of stunned fish. Are we eating or not?”

“Sorry,” Jade says, smiling at him apologetically as Harry shifts in his seat. “It’s just that you don’t really look how you smell.”

Harry doesn’t get to question that, before Niall is setting up the table and everyone’s talking again, seemingly over one another, and then the boy in the apron — Liam — is plating him up some spaghetti and telling him to say when.

He wants to say something, be polite at least. He’s not used to being tongue-tied around others, but his words feel stuck in his throat as they all pass around the cheese and the sauce, even as his wolf settles in. When it calms and retreats, all that’s left in him is that incorrigible mass of emotions that are embedded between his ribs. 

As they start eating around him, it’s clear that any danger he might have envisaged himself in was completely unfounded. It’s almost too normal; not exactly what one might have pictured when thinking of a werewolf commune. It’s definitely less cave-like than he had imagined.

“How was the car trip?” Bressie asks from next to him. He’s seated at the head of the table, dwarfing the rest of them, and Harry doesn’t have to be told that he’s the leader of this pack, and it’s not just that he’s without doubt the biggest or the oldest.

“Good,” Harry says, picking up his fork, before amending, “I mean, I didn’t really get to see much of the view, but it was fine. Smooth.”

Bressie smiles, and it’s understanding, but not really sorry. “Yeah, the blindfold,” he says. “It’s just for safety. We can’t let just anyone know where we are, otherwise, you know.”

He says it with a shrug, but it’s a protective statement. No one will be allowed to hurt his pack.

“Is the food okay?” Liam asks from across the table, and when Harry looks over at him, he’s got a bit of sauce at the corner of his mouth and real concern in his eyes that Harry hasn’t touched his plate yet.

“Oi, stop fishing for compliments, Payno,” Louis says, “we all know it’s good. And you’ve got food all over you face already, you grot.”

While Liam’s scrubbing at his face, Harry finally takes a bite of the food before him. It’s delicious; feels homey and familiar in the best and worst ways.

‘It’s really good, Liam,” Harry says, and there’s so much undeserved kindness etched into Liam’s face when he smiles at him that Harry has to look away.

They don’t ask him any more questions after that, talking amongst themselves and eating heartily and grabbing a few more beers from the fridge, which Harry declines. He thinks it must be hard to think of things to ask someone when they’ve just left everything they’ve known and loved behind. Where did you _use_ to work? What did you _use_ to do? Where did you _use_ to live?

He excuses himself to go to the bathroom soon after dinner, which Niall explains is some kind of composting toilet in an outhouse behind the cottage. He takes a piss and washes his hands, and tries not to stare at his mottled reflection in the mirror above the sink. He’s exhausted; looks it, too. A year’s worth of changes distilled into one single day and etched into the lines of his face.

As he returns back to the cottage, his vision alights on every edge of the forest. The outlines of trees are grey ghosts in the night and animal voices whisper among them like secrets. Like before, he can hear the others inside, laughter and loud voices climbing over one another — a pack that his wolf has already decided to adopt. It stirs in him, calling him close to them once more. They seem good. They seem like _good_ people. That doesn’t stop him from wishing he had just a bit more choice in the matter; doesn’t stop him from wondering if he could just disappear between those trees and become one of those whispered secrets instead.

When he comes back in, someone’s brought out a guitar, and there's a card game happening on the table, Louis already calling foul with enthusiasm even though the game has just begun.

Bressie catches him standing in the doorway, and comes over to him, saying, “Been a long day, hey?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Harry replies, and he tries to smile, but it feels like a dry, stiff crack in his features, and he aims his gaze at the floor instead, hoping to steady himself.

“I know it’s late,” Bressie says, and it’s far, far too gentle for the emotions that are flooding through Harry at right this moment. It’s like that one person who asks if you’re okay just as you’re about to break. “Have a rest now, but in the morning we’ve got some questions. Nothing serious, okay?”

Harry takes a ragged breath and nods. He can’t look up from that fixed position on the ground. If he loses that spot then there’s the chance he might lose hold of everything else, too.

“Alright, then,” Bressie says, and there’s a warm hand on his shoulder, a brief squeeze. “Liam’s going to show you where you’re staying and where you can get cleaned up, yeah? And then I’ll see you in the morning.”

Harry nods again, and he hadn’t noticed him there, but he feels Liam’s hand on his back guiding him towards the door. When he finally raises his head, there’s worry and still that unbearable kindness etched into Liam’s features, his eyes filled with misplaced understanding.

He takes Harry to one of the huts, grabbing one of the candles and Harry’s holdall on the way out the door. Inside, the room is small, but the bed looks soft, and the sheets are covered in small green and yellow flowers. There’s a basin in there, with a mirror above it and a small cabinet below, but Liam tells him there’s an outdoor shower too if he’s interested. 

“No, I think I’ll wait until tomorrow,” Harry says. He can’t remember if he packed any toiletries.

“It’ll be okay,” Liam says, before he leaves. The candlelight creates moving shadows on his face, and his words sound soft and reassuring. “It’s a lot, I know. I didn’t know what was going to happen or what I was even doing here at first. But we’re here to help, I promise.” 

“Liam—” Harry says, and he doesn’t know what he wants to say, but there’s something comforting about Liam, something in his smell, and he’s not sure if he wants to be alone yet.

Liam looks at him expectantly, but Harry just shakes his head. “Nothing. Don’t worry. Just— thanks. Goodnight.”

Liam says goodnight with a smile, closing the door carefully behind him, and Harry is left alone in the dim light.

*

The dream starts out like this:

The moonlight glances through his window, a bright shaft of light slashing over his bed. He’s too hot under his covers, burning heat through every extremity. He writhes beneath them, trying to kick them off, but he can’t, because it's his own skin that he’s trying to shed.

Outside, and the grass is frosted beneath his padded feet, and he’s moving fast and sure-footed, his heart beating as smooth and low as a kick drum. He is strong, he is in love with the night, he is _animal_. When he stops, he raises his head and the moon is a beacon in his eyes, and then there’s a noise tunnelling through his chest, releasing joyous.

His nose smells everything, his eyes see farther than on a clear day, and they catch the movement, the small, running steps, and he thinks, _yes_ , except it’s not a thought but an action. His eyes blink and it’s beneath him and it’s struggling, but Harry is victorious and powerful in this new, wild world.

Horror, when he sees the child’s face under the shattering stars.

Horror, when he sees the blood pouring through gashed and ribboned skin.

Horror, when he wakes up and remembers that it’s not a dream.

*

“He’s quiet,” he can hear Niall say in the kitchen.

He’d woken up drenched right to the pale of his skin and with an itching under his gums. The outdoor shower had done much to cool him down, but he can’t get rid of the feeling that his teeth are too big for his mouth, nor the guilt that sits crushing and leaden over his chest. 

Harry stands on the bottom step of the veranda; had stopped as soon as he’d heard his name. He doesn’t have to strain to hear the conversation; his ears pick it up without any of his input. 

“I think he might be in shock or something.”

“Shut up! He’s right outside, you idiot, is your nose blocked?”

And that would be Jade. Well.

He makes his way inside to see a very red-faced Niall and a wryly grinning Bressie leaning against the counter and nursing a cup of coffee. Jade waves at him a little guiltily from where she’s washing her cereal bowl in the sink. 

“Sorry. We were talking about you,” Jade says. “Thought I’d just get that out there.”

Bressie says, “How are you doing, Harry? Sleep alright?”

“Yeah, it was alright,” Harry lies, and it must be obvious, because Bressie lifts the percolator in his direction and raises his eyebrow.

“You a coffee or tea man?”

He sighs, relieved. There’s always something to be grateful for. “Coffee, please.”

He sits down at the table and Jade and Niall make an excuse to leave, Niall still pinked at the cheeks. It’s hard not to feel a bit diseased, the way that they hastily exit the cottage.

Bressie sits next to him, pushing a coffee over, and Harry mumbles a thank you at the table.

“Don’t worry about them,” Bressie says. “It’s been a while since we’ve had anyone new up here, which I suppose is a good thing.”

“How do you even find people?”

Bressie leans forward, his large frame making the mug in his hands look miniature. Harry can’t imagine what he’d be like when he turns.

“The internet, to be honest. News articles about strange animals sightings. Anything reporting wolf attacks in the UK tends to stand out.”

Harry’s breath strains through his lungs and the mug is squeezed rigidly between his hands. “And so you found me.”

“So we found you,” Bressie repeats. “Sent Niall to sniff you out a couple weeks ago. Do you think you’re up for a few questions? We can leave it until you’ve had something to eat, if you’d prefer.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. Ask anything you’d like.” It’s better that they know everything, anyhow.

“Okay,” Bressie says, and it’s as gentle as the night before. 

He shifts slightly in his seat, turning to face Harry, and the mood turns slightly more solemn.

“Before we start, I just want you to know that you’re in a safe place here. Nobody’s going to hurt you, and we’re not here to judge, alright?”

Harry lips press together and he nods.

“Alright, then,” Bressie says with a nod of his own. “Well, firstly, do you remember how you were bitten? Not everyone does, so it’s okay if you don’t.”

Yes, he remembers. He doesn't know how anyone else wouldn’t.

“I was drunk,” Harry says slowly, and he’s never felt ashamed about that before, but everything seems to burn with it these days. “I was at a party in London, and there was this guy, James, and like, we hit it off, I guess. We were getting out of there, about to go back to mine. Didn’t even say goodbye to anymore. He was a bit desperate, to be honest. We both were.”

He remembers being caught up in the moment. They’d both had a few, it was one of those kinds of parties, and Harry had liked the way that James had kept blocking him into corners, fingers at his sides and lips on his neck like he couldn’t get enough. There’s bile in his throat when he thinks about it now.

“Go on,” Bressie says, reaching out a hand to squeeze Harry’s arm. 

Harry tries not to shatter the mug between his palms. It’s an effort just to loosen his jaw enough to speak. “We were outside, waiting for an Uber. He’d pulled me around the side a bit, and we were…kissing. Making out, I guess. It was a little rough, but we were both sloshed, and I didn’t think anything of it.” 

It’s something he’s thought about nearly every day since, frustration building tense throughout his body. _He didn’t think, he didn’t think_. The words can barely churn themselves out of his mouth.

“He— he kept kind of nipping at me.”

God, he’d been _so_ stupid. God, if he’d only just stopped and thought for a second. If he’d only—

“Harry, hey,” Bressie says, and Harry looks up through vision that’s beginning to blur. “You can’t blame yourself. This is absolutely not your fault. No one in their right mind would have thought that they were picking up a werewolf. Like, trust me, none of us are here because we saw it coming, I can promise you that.”

The laugh that slips out is a little wet and his breath ragged when he inhales. Bressie waits for him, hand warm on his arm and rubbing reassuringly until Harry can continue.

With a slight shake of his head, as if trying to clear away some of that burning shame, Harry says, “He bit me. On the shoulder. At first I— I didn’t notice, I thought he was still messing around. But then it began to really hurt, like his teeth were digging deeper into my skin.” He lets out another wet laugh, because fucking _honestly_. “And then it was like, he wasn’t even a person anymore. I didn’t know what I was seeing and it was dark, and I— and it just hurt _so much_. I thought he was going to bite my arm off.”

Christ. Harry leans forward, palms pressing into his eyes. The pain has long faded but the fear and the panic are just as vivid in his shuddering breaths and his racing pulse. It’s worse knowing that he’s done someone else just the same.

“I don’t know _how_ but I managed to push him off,” he says, voice wavering. “And then…I— I just ran.”

“And James?” Bressie prompts.

“I don’t know,” Harry says, still unsteady. “I don’t remember much of the rest of the night except being in pain. The next day I tried to call another friend at the party to see if they knew him, but they didn’t.”

“Did you go to the hospital? Tell the police?” Bressie asks, a little more insistently.

“No.” It’s just another anomaly on a night that was spotted with them. “I didn’t think— so, no.”

“Okay then,” Bressie says. His chair creaks a little as he sits back, and Harry can sense him taking a drink, musing. He takes a drink himself, even though the coffee has already cooled.

Outside he can head Jade and Liam talking, the sound of woodcutting, a laugh that feels almost too bright for their cold isolation. Their scents mingle with the smell of pine and dirt and fallen leaves. He breathes it in and holds it in his aching chest like it could be the only thing that fills him.

“What happened next?” Bressie says eventually.

Harry exhales heavily, clasping his hands in front of him. “Things…started happening to me. I didn’t know what was going on. And then I started having these strange dreams. I thought I was sleepwalking, but I would end up outside or in the bathtub, and there was just no explanation. I decided to take time off and visit my mum. I was thinking maybe I was over-worked or stressed or something. But it didn’t go away. It just got worse.”

Not just worse; grim. Dire. Terrifying.

“And then,” Harry says, head hanging low, “I hurt somebody.”

“The boy,” Bressie says and it’s still too gentle, and then Harry’s eyes are burning again. He nods, because his voice has finally dried up.

Bressie stands and rests a warm hand on his shoulder. “I know it might take awhile to believe this, but it’s not your fault. You didn’t know what was happening.”

Harry would laugh at that but he’s trying hard enough to just breathe.

“I think we’ll finish up here for today. Go have something to eat, any food in here is yours. You can find Liam later if you want something to do. Alright?”

He waits for Harry to say it back before he leaves. 

Harry curls his body up, head in his palms on his knees, and stays like that for a long time.

*

He wanders outside after he manages to eat a small breakfast. There had been a startlingly vast array of cereals on the shelf inside, all containing much more sugar than Harry’s used to consuming in the morning. He’d settled on a couple pieces of toast with peanut butter, and he feels okay if okay can mean small and sad and ashamed inside in a way that he’s never felt before.

He seeks Liam out. He’s easy to sniff out as soon as he’s outside. There’s something about his scent that feels warm and mellow and sweet, like wild honey in summer. 

Harry’s nose tracks him down the path behind the cottage, stacking wood in a shed that’s not much smaller than the linhay at Harry’s mum’s place. He turns when Harry approaches, grinning broadly. His hairline is damp with sweat, flannel shirt tied around his waist, and white vest smeared with dirt. He’s lovely in the same way as that unexpected, sudden heat is at this time of year.

“Hey, Harry, how’s it going?” he says, wiping his face with the back of his hand. His cheeks are ruddy from exertion.

Harry ducks his head, looking up through his hair. “Yeah, okay. Bressie said to come and see you if I wanted something to do.”

“Sure,” Liam says, picking up a few more pieces of wood and continuing to lug them into the shed. “What did you have in mind?”

Walking over to the shed, Harry leans up against the wall, the splinters from the wood prickling his back through his shirt. He shrugs. “I dunno.”

His throat still feels slightly raw from earlier, his whole face always on the verge of crumbling. Liam looks at him, a lock of hair falling in his face and that piercing sunlight in his eyes, but he’s patient. He doesn’t push, even when Harry just stares right back.

“Can we—,” Harry says finally. “Can we just talk?”

Liam’s smile is just like his scent. “We can do that. I wouldn’t mind the company. Jade up and abandoned me so she could help Jesy out with the greenhouse.”

Harry hadn’t noticed one, but he’d seen from the outhouse that the area that’s been taken over stretches out much longer and wider than he’d first thought when they’d arrived the night before.

He wants to ask about that, but what comes out instead is, “You on cooking duty again tonight?”

“Nah, we try to take turns with that,” Liam replies as he continues his work. “Besides, I’ve only got about three recipes in my repertoire, and I think we’re out of canned tomatoes until the next shopping run.” 

He adds a bit sheepishly, “Honestly, I’m not much of a cook. It’s hard to stuff up a bolognese. You should taste Niall’s cooking. I think he’s on for tonight and him and Lou have gone out fishing for the day.”

Harry nods, looking up at the sky through the overarching spindly branches of the trees. It’s kind of soothing listening to Liam ramble, voice trailing from in and out of the shed. 

“And you all pitch in with the chores?”

“Yep,” Liam says. “There’s the greenhouse and checking the water and the animals. Winter’s coming so we’ve got to prepare for that, too. That’s why I’m storing wood. Our generator is alright, but we try not to use it as much as possible.”

“So, those candles aren’t just for mood lighting,” Harry says, tilting his head back to catch Liam’s eye as he goes past.

Liam laughs. “Nah, that’s just a lucky bonus.”

For a while Harry just watches him, the ease in which he moves and the flex of muscle under tanned skin. He looks like he was made to live out here, like he was born with an axe at his Timberland-clad feet and thumbs hooked into his low-slung jeans. That wild honey scent is stronger now, too; heady, like his whole body is sticky with the stuff.

Harry blinks heavily and clears his throat. “How long have you been here for?”

“About six months now, I think. Not long after I got bitten.” He says it so casually he might as well have been talking about graduating high school or moving out of home. “There was a photo of me that someone took in one of the local newspapers, not much more than a black smudge, but enough to create a bit of fuss. Niall came and picked me up not long after that. Good thing, too, because I was about to turn myself in to a psych unit, I had absolutely no idea what was going on.”

Harry knows that feeling very well.

“So Niall was here before you?” he asks.

Liam comes out of the shed to rest beside him and Harry’s body feels compelled to roll right into that smell.

“He was the second,” Liam says, “after Bres. Then Jesy, Louis, me, and Jade’s been here for three months now. We’re making a proper little village.”

He’s smiling as he says it, eyes crinkling at the corners, like there’s real hope to be had. God, Harry wants to believe in him.

He says, shifting his body to face Liam completely and crossing his arms, “So, this was Bressie’s idea? Like, make a village out in the middle of Scotland or wherever and then we can’t hurt anyone?”

Mirroring him, Liam turns and folds his arms. The skin between his eyes creases when he says, “I think it was more like, so nobody hurts us, and so that we can learn to control our powers properly. You know, like in X-Men.”

“Does that make us Wolverine?” Harry says, mouth quirking at the side.

Liam’s eyes light up a bit. “Maybe. Although, I kind of always thought of us as a bit more Lupin from Harry Potter. Or Sirius.”

“So is this the Marvel or the Harry Potter universe, Liam?” Harry goads softly, watching Liam’s face scrunch up in another grin. “Or is Wolverine secretly a Hufflepuff?”

Liam laughs. “There is zero per cent chance that Wolverine is a Hufflepuff. If anything, I’d bet that he’s secretly a Slytherin,” he says with confidence.

“And you?” Harry inquires, because _he’d_ bet good money that Liam’s already sorted himself on Pottermore.

“Gryffindor. Always,” Liam says. His chest puffs out a little as he says it.

“And me?” Harry asks, leaning forward a little.

Liam’s eyes catch his, widening a fraction at how close Harry has become. “I…Ravenclaw?”

“What? Why?”

“Because you ask a lot of questions?” Liam says, lifting his shoulders.

Harry’s face rearranges itself into something that can only be described as indignant, but he senses someone approaching before he can respond.

“Oi, you can stay here nattering away all day, but lunch is on, if you want any,” Jesy calls out, and Liam’s already walking towards the cottage.

When Harry looks at Jesy, her gaze flicks between the two of them with a raised eyebrow. 

Pushing off the shed to follow, he realises that for a moment he’d almost forgotten that he wasn’t quite human anymore.

*

The rest of the day passes relatively quickly. After lunch, Jade offers to show him around the rest of their “village”, from the greenhouse that is being prepared in time for winter, to the chicken coop and the goat barn located down a dirt path in a fenced area. The smell of them is compounded with the animal and earth smell that permeates everywhere. Jade tells him that they had been kept closer to the huts, but that _some_ had complained about the smell being both vomit-inducing and a wolf-trigger.

There are five brown and white chickens and three Swiss-marked black goats that jump around excitedly when Jade approaches. Harry helps to feed them and muck out the pens while they pull at his shirt.

“They seem pretty cute and relaxed now, but you just wait for the rain to come,” Jade says, in between shovelling. “They scream bloody murder if even the tiniest drop of water touches them, you’d think the sky was falling.”

With the fading of autumn, sunset pulls itself quickly towards the Earth, and it’s not long before everyone’s gathering back at the camp. Niall and Louis get the fire going in the middle of the grounds, and the pike they’ve caught get baked with garlic, butter, olives and herbs.

They eat the fish served with peas and potatoes that have been shoved between the coal, and it tastes incredible and Harry can barely get himself to swallow and can’t bring himself to say more than one-word answers every time Louis throws a question at him. It reminds him of the first time he’d gone on school camp in primary school and how meal times were always the hardest; always made him feel small and alone and cry for his mum until Gemma gave him a hug. 

It’s been years since Harry has lived at home, but that feeling hits him again like new, pushing against the guilt and the remorse and with no Gemma to turn to.

At some point Bressie and Niall get out the guitars just like the night before, and Louis starts requesting Oasis to Jesy’s loud moans of contention, and Liam comes over to sit next to Harry, bringing a blanket. Harry doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he’s felt like he’s been on fire the second he sat down. He also doesn’t tell him how much he would like to bury his face in Liam’s neck and just inhale as much of his mellow honey as possible.

He settles on leaning heavily against Liam’s side.

“Tired?” Liam says.

“Yeah,” Harry replies shortly.

Liam shifts, his arm wrapping around Harry’s shoulders, and _fuck_ , he’s really not sure he can do this. It’s like his emotions are constantly stopped up right up high in his chest, all built up kinetic energy, and that any minute the pressure is going to tear him apart.

“How do you even live with this?” Harry says, words thin and strung out on a thread.

Liam doesn’t answer immediately, staring at the fire in front of them. 

“You know,” he begins slowly, “I’ve found that the best way to kind of get through this is to just have a goal or some purpose. You’ve got to stay focused. Keep moving, keep your mind occupied, work your body out until it can’t stand. The worst thing is to be wandering around aimlessly so that you've got nothing to do but dwell on how shit everything is.”

A bubble of laughter touched with bitterness escapes Harry’s throat. “I mean, it’s pretty fucking shit.”

“The shittiest,” Liam agrees, facing him with a grin. “But seriously, I know you’ve probably heard it a lot by now, but it’ll get better. It seems awful now, but you adjust.”

Adjust. It’s not a promise of happiness or fulfilment, but it still sounds better than being constantly on the precipice of having a breakdown.

“Do you promise?” Harry says.

Liam holds out his hand between them, sticking up his little finger. “I’ll even pinky promise,” he says much too earnestly.

“That’s pretty serious stuff, Liam,” Harry says, but he reaches up to hook his finger around Liam’s. “I feel like we should be saying an oath.”

Giving a small cough and affecting an authoritative tone, Liam says, “I solemnly swear that I, Liam Payne, will cut my own finger off if things don’t get better for Harry.”

Harry makes a face. “Gruesome.”

Liam nudges him, lips twitching. “You’ve got to say it, too.”

Obligingly, Harry straightens where he’s sat. “I solemnly sweat that I, Harry Styles, will ensure that Liam cuts off his own finger if things don’t get better for me.” 

Slouching again, Harry says, “Honestly, couldn't you have chosen something less grisly?”

“I don’t make the rules, Harry,” Liam says. “I guess we’ll just have to make sure that it doesn’t happen, won’t we?”

Popping sparks spring up from the fire in front of them, curling wisps of smoke snaking into the sapphire sky above. There’s that hope again — there’s that yearning of belief. Liam’s smile is triumphant under the glow of the flames. Harry wants to believe in him.

“I guess we will.”

*

Harry’s awake, eyes crusted and bones heavy with fatigue when there’s a knock on his door the next morning. He’d fallen asleep briefly the night before, but it had been restless, overrun with memories-cum-nightmares, and he’d spent the last few hours before dawn listening to the sound of winter winds creeping their chilly way through the trees and trying to differentiate the scents of the warm bodies around him.

He sits up wearily, calling out a “Come in,” that he wishes were more of a “Go away.”

It’s Jesy, wearing jean shorts and a tank, and carrying what looks like a pool noodle.

The first thing she says is, “Jesus, you look like an extra from the _Walking Dead_.”

“Cheers,” Harry says, stifling a yawn. “Exactly what a guy wants to hear first thing in the morning.”

It’s been a little hard to bear for someone who’s always been a morning person.

“Sorry,” is the not very apologetic reply. “Look, we’re heading down to the river for a bit of a swim, did you want to join us? Might wake you up.”

He hadn’t really brought anything to swim in, but that’s never stopped him before. He shrugs and says, “Yeah, okay. Just give me a few and I’ll get ready.”

“Take your time,” she says, with a wave of her hand. “Louis hasn’t even had his tea yet, so you’re fine.”

Harry brushes his teeth at his basin when she leaves, and splashes water across his face. Finally looking in the mirror, he winces at his reflection. Jesy hadn’t been wrong. His pale skin is practically translucent, making the bags under his eyes look dark and heavy. He bares his teeth at the glass, tongue prodding against the sensitive gums, but his canines remain small and deceptively flat. He could almost believe that they’ll stay that way forever, if it weren’t for the nightmares.

Pulling on a t-shirt and some jeans, Harry heads outside to a bright sun and a smattering of clouds. Through the heat of his wolf blood he can’t tell what the normal temperature is any more. It might as well be summer. It seems like Liam can’t either, because he’s soon next to him, wearing basketball shorts and sunglasses and holding out a couple pieces of toast.

“Thanks,” Harry says, taking them gratefully. They’ve got a layer of jam on them about an inch thick.

“Want to head down before the others?” Liam asks. “I can show you the scenic route.”

“Sure,” Harry says between bites. “What’s the scenic route?”

“The route with the scenes,” Liam says, waggling his eyebrows over the rims of his sunnies.

Voice deadpan, Harry says, “Wow, descriptive. You sure do have a way with words, Liam,” and Liam beams at him like he’s just told the best joke in the world.

Liam shouts out to Niall that they’re heading off, and there’s a wolf whistle behind them, but when Harry raises his eyebrows at Liam, he just shakes his head.

They make their way through the forest in the opposite direction of where Harry had come through only two days ago. It’s beautiful like this in the full morning, dappled sunlight brightening the ochre leaves of the shedding oaks between the pine and spruce needles. There’s a well-worn path beneath their feet that travels gradually uphill, taking them over spreading roots and leaf meal, and then jutting grey stones covered in velvety moss as they approach the sound of water. Harry upturns his face to the warm rays of the sun until he trips over a stone.

“Up here,” Liam says, nodding towards a rocky outcrop, and they make their way up a moderately gentle climb that breaches the tops of some of the nearby trees.

Liam takes his hand at the last, pulling him with a sure and steady grip onto a narrow ledge.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” he says, spreading his arm out panoramic, like he’s presenting Harry the world. “Makes you feel small, doesn’t it?”

Harry’s pressed up against Liam’s firm side, warm honey filling his lungs and Liam’s strong hand still curled around his, and for a moment he barely registers the view in front of him. The last tendrils of sleep unravel from his bones, replaced by a pull low in his gut at the shadow of Liam’s jaw under the bright unfiltered sun.

He has to strive a little to pull his gaze away from that dark line of stubble, but when Harry’s eyes focus on what’s in front of them, his perspective shifts. It’s different to the view from when he first entered the camp. From up here they can see the rolling hills in the distance, dark greens cut through with burnished bronze and gold. The river snakes below them, rippling blue and silver under the soft breeze, and the trees crowd the pale edges, tight as soldiers. It seems to stretch on forever, miles and miles of untouched tranquility, and for the first time, Harry feels something that resembles _safe_. He can see, literally and physically, that he can’t hurt anyone from here. Like Liam said, they are small here, amongst the vastness of forest.

Harry squeezes Liam’s hand, and Liam smiles, pleased, and they slowly make their way down again to the beaten path.

“That’s probably the best view around here,” Liam says, as he hops down the last few steps. Harry’s fingers grip a little tighter to the rock surface. 

“Louis discovered it when he got separated from the group on a turning night a few months ago. Somehow ended up there, naked and alone. According to him, it was worth it, though.”

There are a few points that Harry feels need addressing right there, beginning with, “A turning night?”

“Yeah, when the wolves come out,” Liam singsongs. He darts Harry a look, brows furrowed. “How many times have you turned, Harry?”

Harry shrugs. “I’m not sure,” he admits. “I got bitten about a month or so ago, and some nights I’d end up in some strange places. But there’s only one night I can really remember being like, I guess— changing— a werewolf.”

“It might only have been once,” Liam says, and he points them down another path before he continues. “Niall worked it out. There are a few days before and after a full moon when we can turn, around three or four, give or take. But once you turn for that cycle, you don’t have to again until the next full moon comes around.”

The idea that he can control when he becomes a wolf is not something that has occurred to Harry before. The last — maybe only — time he’s changed, it was like his whole body was overtaken, there was no conscious decision. He’s not sure he was even awake.

“So,” Harry says slowly, piecing that information together. “You all turn at the same time?”

“Yeah,” Liam says. “It’s safer that way. We can watch out for each other. Plus, it’s different — better — when you turn as a pack. You’ll understand when it happens. Which brings us to this.”

They’re standing before a small cave, the type that Harry has been picturing when he’d first arrived, it’s entrance half hidden by foliage. Liam carefully steps his way over the mossy rocks, Harry close behind him, and then ducks down into the cave mouth.

It takes a moment for Harry’s eyes to adjust to the darkness, but when his pupils dilate, he can see that the cave is about ten metres long, and a few metres wide, and that it’s been dressed with blankets. There are a few backpacks stacked neatly near the back. What is most noticeable though, is how it smells strongly of _pack_ , hitting his nose and mouth like a punch, and sending Harry’s blood sparking through his veins. He can pick out Jesy’s spice and Bressie’s metal, and it’s both the same as when they’re all together, and yet so much _more_. It’s richer, rawer, thicker.

The wolf that had calmed in their presence starts to stir.

Unaware, Lim says, “This is where we go if we don’t make it back in time,” adding wryly, “Unless you’re Louis and you end up on top of a ledge.”

“What are the backpacks for?” Harry asks, and his words sound slightly muffled to his own ears.

“Clothes and water. Jesy’s idea,” Liam says in confirmation. He grins a little sheepishly. “It’s not exactly the most comfortable thing to be wandering back home completely in the nuddy.”

His pulse rapidly speeding up, Harry squats down and trails a hand over one of the tartan blankets on the floor of the cave. The scent is stronger, closer to true and bordering on overwhelming; salt sticking to his oesophagus and layering his skin. Unlike the last time at the cottage, the closer he gets, the further the feeling is from fading. 

A small ball of hair collects at the tips of his fingers, thick black strands inflected with golden browns. His heart beat quickens and thrums against his ribs.

“Harry?” Liam says, and his voice is too loud and close, and yet distorted as if underwater. “Harry, Jesus!”

Knees hitting the ground, Harry’s whole body feels set to quaver. His teeth sting with sensitivity and the nails on his hands and feet tighten. It begins to feel like each muscle is close to tearing itself from the bone.

Before he knows it, Harry is being hauled bodily to his feet and pulled out of the cave, his feet catching clumsily on the slick stones beneath his feet, and his eyes closing sharply against the sudden glare. Liam rights his folding body with strong hands and pulls him close, and Harry gives up on holding himself up; just lets Liam prop him up and trusts him not to let him fall.

Liam is murmuring, words tumbling together so that they’re almost indistinct, a mixture of “I’m so, so sorry, Harry, _Jesus fuck_ , are you _okay_?”

He can’t talk, only breathes in, open mouthed, the piney earthiness of the forest, and letting Liam’s warm honey scent calm the wolf that’s trying to claw it’s way out of his skin.

Liam’s hand is soothing, smoothing up and down the thin material at his back, words still running like a river from his mouth, and Harry finds his hands gripped into fists at Liam’s side. His head falls against Liam’s warm, solid shoulder, and it’s better, getting better, breathing in deeply from the source. After a few minutes, Harry’s heart begins to slow down its marathon race.

Interrupting Liam’s torrent of apologies and desperate comfort, Harry says, “Tell me again.” His voice is ragged at the edges, and eyelids still pressed tight. “Tell me again that it’ll get better.”

“Oh, Harry,” Liam says, and it sounds like a sigh. “It will. It’ll get better, I promise.”

He just wants to believe him so badly.

“I was…” Harry starts, “I was going to turn. In there.”

Liam’s hand strokes softly through his hair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were so close to it. We’ll have to turn soon. I’ll talk to Bres about it.”

There’s that raw barbed ball of emotion sitting at the base of Harry’s throat again. 

“I don’t want to.” He knows he sounds petulant, but he can’t help it.

“It’ll get better,” Liam repeats, and it’s hard to disagree when that hand is still stroking his hair. “It’ll be better as a pack. You won’t be alone. Promise.”

And at least there’s that.

*

By the time they make it down to the water, the others are already there, and any ribbing that might have occurred is silenced by Liam’s glare and most probably the fact that Harry looks more wrung out than he did earlier that morning.

Louis lures Niall, Jesy and Jade into a very brief chicken fight, wherein Jade tries to leap-tackle Louis while Jesy does something beneath the water that ends with Niall shrieking and throwing Louis off him in an effort to get away. They stick to the pool noodles after that.

Harry strips down to his briefs and wades into the water, which is getting cool enough that his heated skin registers its bite. He floats on his back, letting his skin soak up the warmth of the sun, while Liam and Bressie swim out from the shore together. It wouldn’t take a skilled detective to work out that they’re talking about him. He can’t help feeling like a bit of a freak, different but not in the way that his mum always said made him special as a kid. More like the kind that morphs into a bloodthirsty, child-murdering monster at the drop of a hat. Fuck, fuck, fucking _shit_.

With his heart still bearing the memory of that staggering kick of adrenalin, Harry lets his body sink under the water until the pressure in his lungs overtakes the panic high in his chest. When he resurfaces, Niall is treading water beside him while holding a yellow pool noodle.

“Jesus, thought I was going to have to haul you out and perform mouth-to-mouth for a second,” he says with a laugh.

“Not today,” Harry says, face twisting into an approximation of a grin. “But I’m free later tonight, if you are.”

Niall flicks him with water, and Harry flicks him back in retaliation.

Paddling a little further away, Niall says, “Did you know that in Canada they’ve got wolves that can swim in the ocean?” and it’s not completely apropos of nothing, but it’s pretty close.

“No, Niall, I didn’t know that.”

Niall throws his arms out, saying, “They’re about this big, smaller than a normal wolf; more like a German Shepherd. They can swim for ages to find fish, even down the west coast of the states.”

“Are you proposing that we become river wolves?” Harry asks, half ducking under the water again. He can see Bressie and Liam have finished their chat and are swimming back to join them, and there’s a seed of humiliation nestled inside that grows with every metre of their approach.

“Nah, I think Bressie would die if we ate that much fish,” Niall says, laughing. “I just think it’s kind of interesting, you know? The way that animals can adapt to survive. Even when you think that two things like wolves and the ocean can’t coexist, they somehow make do. Nature will find a way and all that.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “We’re not talking about Canadian sea wolves anymore, are we.” It’s a statement more than a question.

Niall shrugs a little, but still says, “I’m just saying. You think you can’t live like this, but you adapt. It’s difficult, but you find a way. It’s just that maybe you have to change what it means to live.”

A huff escapes Harry’s mouth. He feels his throat closing over again. He’s not sure there’s much more change he can take. Except that he knows what will happen if he doesn’t, and that outcome is infinitely worse.

Taking a steadying breath, he swims closer and pokes Niall in the stomach and says, “Thanks,” even as Niall wriggles away, batting his hand.

With a splash, Bressie appears beside them, slinging a giant arm around Niall’s shoulders and making him sink a little in the water. Niall rolls his eyes, but Harry notices that he doesn’t try to push him away.

“Up for some lunch, lads?” Bressie says.

“I think there’s still some pike left from last night,” Niall says, and Bressie makes a disgusted face. 

“Cheers, but I’ll stick to sandwiches.”

In a blink, he’s picked Niall up around the waist and carts him towards the shore, Niall ineffectually kicking and yelling the whole time.

“Are they always like that?” Harry says to Liam. He hasn’t spoken or looked at him, but Harry knows he’s there. He thinks he could smell him a mile off at this point.  
“Niall and Bres? Yeah, I guess so?” Liam replies. He reaches out to touch Harry’s arm, pulling him out of the shallows.

The sky is partly overcast now, a lacework of clouds covering the sun and turning the bright light into a hazy glare. It’s still bright enough to strike the contours of Liam’s face and body, slick with river water that slides off his collarbones and darkens the curls on his chest and laps at the hard lines of his torso. He pushes his hair back, droplets clinging to black strands, and looks at Harry from under brows that are drawn together with concern. It’s a terrible, frustrating combination of mind-blowingly hot and overly sympathetic. 

A shiver runs right through him, prickling his skin like gooseflesh. “Don’t look at me like that,” Harry says.

Liam bites and releases his lip, and that is no help whatsoever. “Like what?”

“Like…” Harry groans. “You _know_. Like I’m going to have a meltdown.”

“I don’t think you’re going to have a meltdown,” Liam says, forehead wrinkling further. “Are you going to have a meltdown?”

“Not right now, I’m not!” Harry says, throwing his hands up in what is probably not a very good impression of a person not having a meltdown.

“Okay, that’s…good?” Liam says, still a little confused. “Can I tell you what I was going to tell you now?”

All Harry can do is sigh. The clouds are darkening further above, and the water is actually beginning to nip his skin with chill. 

“Go ahead. The floor is yours.”

Hand once again reaching for Harry, Liam says, rather carefully, “I was just going to let you know, that I talked to Bres and it’s going to be tomorrow night.”

Harry’s heart all but stops. “What?”

“We’ll be changing tomorrow night,” says Liam.

Harry’s voice is strained, pulled taut when he says, “No. I’m not ready.”

Liam places his other hand on Harry’s shoulder, and it’s warm and more comforting than it has any right to be, but Harry can still feel that stirring, that restlessness like his insides are trying to escape and he is helpless to it.

“It’s okay,” Liam says. “There’s no one for miles, I swear.”

And he’d thought that, too, but that’s not true, is it?

 _There’s you. There’s the others_ , Harry thinks, and Liam must be a mind reader, because he says with a small, melancholy grin, “Hey, do you really think that you’re stronger than me?”

When Harry just shakes his head, Liam wraps his hand around the nape of Harry’s neck, and Harry’s pulse ricochets between them, and it’s not merely from fear. “Hey. I’ve got you, okay? We all do.”

There’s thunder in the distance. It’s always surprised him how fast a storm can move in. 

It’s no longer safe to be in the water.

“Yeah,” Harry says, and it comes out with a shuddery breath. “Okay.”

*

It rains all afternoon, and they race back to the camp, slipping and sliding along the muddy trail. They spend the rest of the afternoon and night indoors, cooking up a lentil curry together while the rain hits the roof like bullets, and playing Monopoly, which seems to be the only board game in the house, on the floor of the small living area.

Harry wonders, is this going to be it? Is this the life that he’s been condemned to? When he looks at Jesy maniacally laughing as she puts down her fifth hotel and Louis threatening to murder them all in their sleep, he doesn’t think _condemn_ is the right word, but it still doesn’t sit quite right. He thinks back to what Liam said, about having a purpose, a focus. It’s probably not the worst advice he’s ever got.

Bressie follows him out when he goes to get some beers from the kitchen.

“You right?” he says, leaning up against the counter. It seems to be his spot, his place to survey the room.

Harry can hear Jade from where she’s standing on the couch swearing sweet revenge, and it might just be the first time he’s heard a word stronger than _shit_ leave her mouth.

Leaning back next to him, Harry twists open one of the bottles and takes a swig, before saying, “Be honest with me; just how bad do I look? Because it seems that any time someone gets me alone they assume that I’m about to off myself or something.”

Bressie barks out a laugh. “Look, I’m not gonna lie, shite would be a pretty generous assessment.”

Harry nods. “Like, on a scale of ‘My partner just left me for a much older and wealthier man’ to ‘I just ran over my own cat’…?”

Tilting his head in consideration, Bressie says, “Perhaps leaning more towards ‘Everything that I care about is on fire and there’s nothing left to live for’.”

“Well, that’s definitely the look I was going for, so.”

Bressie grins at him, and he holds out his beer to Harry’s, clinking them together.

“So, the good news is that you’ve still got your sense of humour,” Bressie says, “which I’ve always thought was the most important thing when you’re going through a crisis.”

Harry sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t get how you guys seems perfectly fine with all this. Like, how are you not just all weeping on the ground right now, that’s what I want to know.”

Bressie gives him an unimpressed look. “Who says we weren’t? I think you’re forgetting that we’ve been — for a lack of a better term — _werewolves_ for a lot longer than you. Plus, it’s harder in the beginning. The first few times you turn are the worst, because it doesn’t know you yet, and you don’t know it. You want to fight it, but you’ve got to learn to let it be.

“And you know what?” he asks, waiting for Harry to shake his head in response. “Even after that, sometimes I _still_ wake up and want to cry and never get up again. But,” he says diplomatically, “that might also have to do with being clinically depressed.”

“You know, they don’t teach you that in school,” Harry says.

“What, that even werewolves can be depressed?”

“No,” Harry says with a grin that’s almost true. “That sometimes your whole life bursts into a huge flaming ruinous mess and there’s absolutely bullocks you can do to stop it. But, that, too.”

“Maybe we should write a letter to the education minister,” Bressie suggests.

Harry shrugs. “Might be worth a shot,” and they clink their bottles together again to success.

For a moment they stand in silence, listening to Niall yelling at Louis to stop stealing from the bank and Louis’ vehement denial. 

Just when Harry is about to pick up the rest of the beers and head back in, Bressie says, “That’s why I started to build this place, you know. I didn’t know what the fuck was going on when I turned the first time. It’s not exactly your first thought when something like that happens that you’ve been turned into a werewolf. It’s just a wee difficult to wrap your brain around.”

He straightens up, drinking the last of his beer, and dumping it in the recycling. He faces Harry and says, “As soon as I found Niall and realised I wasn’t the only one, I knew I had to do something to keep people safe. Not just them from us, but us from them, too. So that we could look out for each other.” He grins wryly at the sound of Liam swearing. “Of course, it’d be nice if the age demographic was just a little bit higher, but I suppose it could be worse.”

“Could be werewolf toddlers running around,” Harry says, considering. “Ripping up toys and peeing on every tree.”

Bressie laughs. “Like I said, could be worse.”

Harry pushes off the bench. He puts his beer down and holds out his hand. “I don’t think I ever said thank you. For bringing me here,” he explains at Bressie’s bemused expression.

The handshake is solid and warm. Bressie’s touch isn’t comforting like Liam’s, but it’s strong. Supportive. Despite everything, and for a lack of any other alternative, he’s glad he’s here at least. He’s glad that there is a village to help bring up this wolf pup.

As Bressie says, “You’re very welcome, Harry,” Louis pokes his head around the door frame and raises his eyebrow at the scene.

“Christ, Harry, it’s only a beer. No need for the formalities,” he says, grabbing his own off the table. “Now are you going to help me annihilate Jesy or not?”

“A suggestion,” Harry says, as he’s leaving the kitchen, pointing his bottle at Bressie. “Have you ever heard of Scrabble?”

*

With the game winding down and everyone besides Jesy some form of grumpy, Bressie kicks them all out, citing ‘being too old for all this shite’. Niall had most generously offered to stay back to help clean up.

Liam walks Harry back to his cabin. The rain has stopped, leaving damp ground beneath their feet and an edge to the cold that hadn’t been there before and for the first time it really feels like winter is upon them. Above, dark grey clouds blanket the midnight sky, shielding the waxing gibbous moon. Harry’s heart still jumps a little, apprehension rolling nauseatingly in his gut and reminding him it’s there even if he can’t see it.

Liam says, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Different,” Harry comments. “But go on.”

Liam nudges him in the side. “I know what you need.”

“What do I need?” Harry asks, and his voice comes out deeper than he thought it would, steadier than he thought himself capable at this place and time.

They stop before his door, like some kind of ridiculous teenage rom-com. Liam’s got his hands shoved in his pockets and Harry wishes he still had long hair so he’d have something to do with his own hands.

“You need to know that there are good things that come with being a werewolf, too.”

“What, like the super hearing and super smell?” Harry says, making a face. “You know, strangely enough, I wouldn’t really classify that as a ‘good thing’. Have you met Louis and Niall?”

Liam ignores him and says, “Come running with me tomorrow morning.”

“Running? There’s super speed, too?” Harry says with a faux gasp. “Don’t tell me this has been the DC universe all along.”

“Jesus Christ, Harry,” Liam says, rolling his eyes, but there’s fondness there. Harry can tell even without his wolf eyes. 

Liam reaches out to tug on the hem of Harry’s shirt, before beginning to make his way down the steps. “I’ll come get you tomorrow at 7. Sleep well, Harry.”

“Wait. Liam,” Harry calls out. There’s something that’s been niggling at Harry’s mind, exacerbated when Jade had not so subtly sniffed him during Monopoly and then shaken her head. He’s been trying very hard not to be offended. “Liam, how do I smell?”

Liam stiffens a little at the question, not quite turning around to face him. “You smell good,” he says, dragging the word out a little.

“And I don’t look good?” Harry says with a huff. “Jade said I didn’t look how I smelt. What does that mean?”

Liam shakes his head. “It doesn’t mean anything. You just look…a different kind of good. Okay? Night, Harry.”

He’s down the steps and into his own cabin before Harry can ask anything further.

*

True to his word, Liam’s there outside his door the next morning, shirtless and in another pair of basketball shorts.

It had been another night full of periods of wakefulness intermitted between exhaustive nightmares that leave him anxiety-ridden and dreading the inevitable. He's got that image in his head, the one where the blood is imbedded under his fingernails and the boy’s screams have intermingled with his own cries for help. At some point that boy had transformed into Niall, into Jade, into Liam, and he feels sick with it, bile and terror and contrition forming the bitterest alloy.

He's not particularly in the mood for a run, or moving in general. Locking himself in his cabin for the week is starting to look like a fairly feasible option.

Still, he gets up. He doesn’t look at himself in the mirror as he cleans himself up, but he gets up and makes it out the door, and that has to be worth something.

They begin slowly, taking the same route as the other day. The ground has frozen overnight, grass tipped with ice and mud turned hard and unforgiving. Steam leaves their mouths like dragon smoke, blending into the mist off the river that clings to their legs as they weave their way up then down the trail. Harry focuses on his heart beat, and the impact of his feet against the ground, and the movement of muscles across Liam’s back, and the way the sweat slides down his spine.

They run for ages, until the only thing Harry sees is Liam and the only thing he feels is the ache in his legs. It’s almost a game in how much time he can spend without thinking about anything at all. It’s a shock when Liam finally slows down, and Harry runs into his back, not able to stop himself fast enough. Liam reaches out to help him balance and Harry’s hands find Liam’s waist and they stay like that for a moment, swaying in spot while their lungs beat out harsh white breaths and the world steadies to stillness.

Harry looks up and Liam’s grinning at him, eyes crinkled at the corners, chest heaving with exhilaration, and that warm honey scent filling the space between them. Harry’s gaze flickers to his mouth, parted and red, and back up again. Everything, everything aches.

“I don’t get it,” Harry says between panted breaths. “I’m still sore, still out of breath, still tired. What about that was meant to be good, again?”

Liam laughs, holding his arms tighter. “That’s it,” he says. “Don’t you get it?”

“No, I don’t fucking get it,” Harry says incredulously, and how is he supposed to be able think of anything when Liam looks and smells like that?

“We’re still mostly the same,” Liam explains, like Harry is a child. “Like, not everything has changed. The good thing is that underneath we’re just the same people we were before.”

“That,” Harry says, “might just be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” 

And before Liam can protest, he leans forward and kisses him.

It’s a hard kiss, clumsy and desperate. He wants too much all at once, hands gripping Liam’s sides and pulling him close and mouth open and wanting. He kisses him roughly until Liam cups the back of his head and gentles it into something sweeter. He kisses him and Liam’s lips are soft and careful and Harry’s heart hurts and he’s so fucking sad that he doesn’t know what to do anymore. 

When they part, they stay close, foreheads pressed together, and breath paling the air between them.

“I’m sorry,” says Harry, words muffled from mouth bruised. His fingers reach up to trace the side of Liam’s neck, and he would be embarrassed if he didn’t need it so badly. “Can I?”

“Of course, you idiot,” Liam says softly.

Harry buries his face in Liam’s neck and breathes him in like oxygen. Liam holds him there, hand still at his nape and fingers tangled in the strands of his hair. 

Harry’s heart slows its violent pace and his wolf lays calm.

*

They return in time for lunch. Bressie insists they eat as much protein as possible, which means omelettes and poached eggs courtesy of the industrious chickens out the back. Afterwards, Harry volunteers to feed them with Louis and check to see if any of the fences were damaged or loose from the rain. Liam watches them leave with a concerned expression on his face, but still smiles at Harry when he gives him a small wave from the doorway, like it just might be involuntary.

They head out to the barn, making their way around the perimeter of the fence in relative silence until Louis says, “So, looking forward to tonight?”

Harry almost laughs. “No, I can’t say there is anything I have looked forward to less.”

“It’s not too bad,” Louis says with a slight shrug, giving the post in front of him a knock. “You might even enjoy it.”

This time Harry does laugh and it’s full of vitriol. “It’s not going to be my first time. I know what it’s like,” he says, taking a breath that’s like acid filling his lungs. “It was horrible. I couldn’t control myself. I hurt someone, and—”

“We know,” Louis says, interrupting, looking up with knitted brows. “Like, it’s okay, we know. We wouldn’t have taken you in if it had been a problem.”

Harry doesn’t know if he’s surprised or not. Of course they would all know, honesty would be key in a place like this. It doesn’t make the shame any smaller. 

The goats have heard them and come out for their food. Harry watches them bound over to the fence, bleating at them through the wire. He wonders if they can smell the wolf in them and why they’re not scared.

Louis stops to pat one bouncing black head over the fence, saying, “Alright, alright, soon.”

He turns to Harry then, eyes squinting slightly. “You say you know what it’s like, but do you really remember? Like, do you remember what it felt like before you hurt the kid?”

He does is the thing. That’s probably the worst part. He remembers the joy and the sense of freedom and that feeling of the night being a living thing that he now belonged to. He remembers the feeling of power and what it did to him.

His throat is pinched when he says, “I don’t think you understand what I did.”

“I do,” Louis says, straightening up, ignoring how the goats butt at the fence after him. “Like I said, it’s not a problem.”

“How can it not be a problem?” Harry chokes out, throat so tight that it’s painful to even make a sound. “I _hurt_ him. He could be dead because of _me_. How can that not be a fucking problem?”

Louis looks at him evenly. “Do you honestly think that you’re the only person here who’s hurt someone by accident? Are you going to give me a guilt-trip, too? Or Jade?”

“What?” Harry says stupidly.

Rolling his eyes, Louis says, “Are you so stuck up your own arse that you haven't thought about what everyone else has been through?”

Softly, Harry mumbles, “Liam said someone got a photo of him.”

“Liam was one of the lucky ones,” Louis says matter-of-factly.

The goats bleat at them plaintively, and with a sigh, Louis heads around to feed them. Harry follows behind him after a moment, carefully finding and collecting the eggs from the coop while Louis spreads out the feed and distracts the chickens and goats.

As they finish up, Louis calls out to ask if he’s done.

Coming out of the hen house, Harry says, instead of answering, “Look, maybe what I did was not the exception. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t awful.”

Louis stares at him before responding. “Yeah, I know. But it also doesn’t mean that you have to constantly beat yourself up over it either. It happened. It’s not going to happen again.”

“You don’t know that,” Harry insists.

Louis squares him a look, then shakes his head and walks over to the gate, letting them out. “I do. And we can bet on it if you prefer, but I can tell you now that I’m going to win.”

Harry’s mouth twists. “That’s a lot of faith in someone you don’t really know.”

“I’m good at reading people,” Louis says, crossing his arms. His eyes are steady and challenge Harry to disagree.

He’s adamant, and Harry’s always been a lover, not a fighter. He allows Louis to lead the way back to the cottage, his trainers making determined prints in the dirt.

Before they head inside, Harry catches him by the arm, stopping him on the steps.

“Louis. Are you good at reading wolves, too?” Harry asks.

Louis grins. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to find out tonight.”

*

It’s nearly midnight when they gather around the fire outside. The moon beams immense and golden through the thin tree branches, and the world appears bright and still in the wintery chill. Even just looking at it pulls at something deep within Harry, making the wolf turn and tumble inside him in anticipation. His hands and feet tingle under the touch of moonlight and his jaw aches, teeth sitting uncomfortably in his mouth. He doesn’t think he could hold it in any longer even if he wanted to.

“It’s better if we’re out in the open,” Liam had said after explaining what would happen. His cheeks had been tinted rosy. “It’s less of a struggle when there’s nothing in the way of our wolves getting out.”

The shadows fall across their silver-touched skin, prickling with goosebumps, and there’s no shame here, no indignity. He’s always been comfortable with his body, even in front of strangers. Underneath they are all just animal anyway.

Like the leader he is, Bressie is the first to turn. They watch silently as his hulking frame shudders, muscle and bone compacting and twisting and breaking like a macabre mannikin. He doesn’t scream, only grunts through the ripping and rebuilding of his cells, face contorting and lengthening, until the wolf inside has finally shaped itself external and the horror remade itself beautiful. When he’s finally whole again, he stands broad and powerful, dark brown coat thick and shining, and flings his head back to the sky, howling ferociously into the night.

Harry’s heart thuds in awe and fear, sweat gathering along his hairline, and he watches as Niall turns next into something slimmer and slightly tawny, then Jade and Louis, almost black and almost flaxen, and then Jesy, brilliant and graceful and russet-hued. They run off into the forest one by one, nudging each other and pouncing light-footed over roots and rocks and muddied ground.

Louis stops near the end of the path and howls back at them, and even as a wolf he seems to inflect it with reproach. Harry can see the fierce stare of his wild blue eyes, and there’s that challenge there just for him, a combatant dare, and Harry can’t look away.

Taking Harry’s hand, Liam says, “Hey, I’ve got you, remember?”

There is blood on his hands and pushing itself violently through his veins. There has been a war waging inside of him and there will always be blood on his hands. Inside, his wolf pants and yearns, pawing at his chest, waiting for its escape, and Harry thinks _don’t fight it, don’t fight it, don’t fight it anymore_ even as his body begins to revolt against himself. 

Louis turns and disappears into the trees.

“I’ve got you, Harry,” Liam repeats. “I’ve got you.”

Harry links their fingers together. He closes his eyes. And, swallowing hard, he lets every line of defence, every wall he’s put up to cage the beast in, be felled.

*

A cry tears itself from his throat.

The wolf burns its acrid way through every fibre of flesh and molecule of muscle. 

He screams even as his throat closes over, even as his voice is stolen, even as the wolf howls wild and triumphant.

He feels all of it in that fleeting moment.

Later, though, what he remembers most is in pieced together snatches of time that fit like a broken jigsaw. He can see the forest floor as it rushes under his paws. He can feel the iciness of the water as they run along the shore of the river, and the way that the surface had rippled silver and black and gold under the moonlight.

He remembers Liam, grey and shaggy and smaller than he’d thought he’d be, but still strong and vibrant and with as much pull as the moon itself. They’d tumbled and played and Harry’s wolf heart had soared and beat that kick drum right through his chest, exposing everything that he had ever learnt to keep hidden. 

He remembers them all, the way that they had touched and spoken, drawing together and keeping each other in line. The way they had hunted. There’s blood, blood, and it’s still victorious, and Harry’s eyes stay open the whole time.

There are teeth at his neck and warm bodies huddled close, and the scent of wild honey and spice and earth and salt. It’s in him and around him and it feels real and rapturous and good.

Liam had been right. It’s better with pack. You don’t forget who you are.

*

The morning breaks around them in the sweet chill of the morning. They each slip off, backpacks carefully up-ended and talking in hushed tones like the night is yet sacred and upon them.

Harry doesn’t realise he’s crying until Liam cradles the back of Harry’s head and turns it against his neck, and Liam’s arms are around him, pulling him in, offering comfort that Harry's still not sure he even deserves. Harry’s hands grip instinctively at Liam’s sides, because he’s sitting but he’s drowning, and the only air that he can breathe is one that’s filled with Liam’s heady scent.

“You didn’t hurt anyone,” Liam says, rubbing Harry’s naked back soothingly. “We’re all okay. You’re okay.”

And that’s not it at all, not really. 

He cries, raw and aching, and lets Liam hold him and kiss his hair and tell him he’s alright, until there’s nothing left in him.

He thinks, somewhere underneath the bruising shame, that maybe it’s getting better.

*

It rains later that morning; a sprinkling shower that turns the sky a subdued grey. They don’t talk much. Liam begins working on finishing the rest of the huts, and Niall fixes one of the generators that has been fluctuating, and Jade tells them that there’s going to be beets and kale in time for winter. They stay close, because the memory of the night before is close.

Louis comes to find Harry when he’s feeding the chickens and the goats, which he’s beginning to feel a kind of kinship with.

Louis hands a piece of paper over the fence to him, and Harry brushes the dirt off his hands on his jeans before he takes it.

“I did a bit of a Google,” Louis says, nonchalant. “It wasn’t hard to find, really. Not many wild animal attacks happening in England, apparently.”

Harry freezes, unable to look at the heading.

“It’s okay,” Louis says with a sigh. “I wouldn’t have given it to you if it weren’t okay.”

Biting his lip, Harry makes himself read down the page. The words blur as he gets further down, mixing quotes from doctors and the boy’s parents. His hands are shaking by the time he finishes. As it turns out that he hasn’t finished crying quite yet.

“For fuck’s sake,” Louis groans, and he hops the fence to give Harry one of the most awkward hugs he’s ever had. It almost makes him laugh. 

“What are you crying for?” Louis says, patting his back. “The boy’s okay, he’s alive. He’s probably going to live a long and prosperous life and, on top of that, have with some wicked scars to impress his mates with.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says wetly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. “I’m glad, I promise.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, heavy with relief. “Thank you. Really.”

“S’alright.” Louis gives him a few more pats on the back before stepping away. “Are you done? If I leave you alone are you going to run off crying into the woods?”

“You know, I think i’m going to be alright,” Harry says, lips quirking even though his eyes are still red, and Louis nods before climbing the fence again. 

One of the goats wanders over and grabs at the paper in Harry’s hands. He lets her have it.

*

They sit outside for dinner again, turning sausages over the fire because they’re all too lazy to do any proper cooking. Bressie says they might need to do another grocery run soon and stock up, and Liam tells Harry that he can come with him if he wants, but Harry's not sure he’s ready to face the real world yet. He does ask Bressie if he can use the sat phone they have to call his mum sometime, and Bressie calls him an eejit for even asking. It feels good to be trusted, even if he doesn’t quite trust himself yet.

The sky has cleared after the rain, and the moon still sits bright and nearly full above them. His wolf stirs, making itself present, but there’s no urgency nor itching restlessness. He still feels anxious, and maybe he’ll always feel that way. He’s hurt someone, and there’s nothing he can do to change that.

Liam sits next to him, and the burning heat has receded somewhat since the night before, so the blanket that lays over their legs is welcome this time.

Liam smiles at him and tells him about the time when he was young and he’d got lost on a camping trip with his folks; wandered out in the middle of the night for a piss and had got lost and sat crying beneath a tree until morning, where his mum had found him not three metres from their tent.

“They didn’t hear you?” Harry asks.

“Nah,” Liam says, shaking his head, laughing. “I didn’t want to be too loud in case there was something out there in the trees that might hear me. My sisters called me an idiot and teased me about it for the rest of the trip.”

“Well, I mean, you weren’t wrong,” Harry says with a small smile. “It’s just that it turns out that we’re the monsters in the woods.”

Liam furrows his brow and levels Harry with a look. “We’re not monsters, Harry. We’re just not completely human anymore. But that doesn’t make us monsters.”

Something still surges in Harry, wanting to disagree, but he kisses Liam on the cheek instead, liking how he blushes under the glow of the fire.

He takes Liam’s hand and holds it between them and says, contemplatively, “So, how do you think we became werewolves anyhow? Like, do you think it’s a virus or something?”

“I think it’s magic,” says Liam, and Harry can’t tell if he’s being serious or not, he says everything with such happy conviction.

“What, like actual Harry Potter?” Harry says, teasing. 

“Why not?” Liam says with a shrug. “Can you prove it’s not magic?” But he’s grinning and Harry wants to kiss him properly now. There’s a tug in his chest, and this time it’s all for Liam. 

He does kiss him, ignoring Louis groaning at them from across the campfire. Liam’s lips are a bit greasy, and Harry’s not exactly sure what this is, but it feels good and like something that he needs right at this moment. It feels like this is the one thing that he could never stop his wolf from wanting.

Liam sighs, warm and sweet against his mouth, and Harry touches his neck and breathes him in.

“Do you think that we’re going to be here forever?” he says, and Liam laughs. It’s sudden and loud and it makes Harry smile, even though he doesn’t know what’s so funny.

“What? Why are you laughing?” Harry asks, and his cheeks hurt a little. “You think it’s that impossible to think about leaving?”

“No,” Liam says, still laughing, tipping his head against Harry’s. “It’s just that you ask so many questions.”

Harry lets out a huff of breath. “Well, excuse me, Liam, if I have a healthy thirst for knowledge,” he says, but any affront is swallowed by the grin taking over his face.

“And like, I’m obviously the source of all knowledge,” Liam says, eyes crinkling.

“My own werepedia,” Harry says, poking him as he groans. “And yet you still haven’t really told me what’s up with my scent.”

“It’s nothing,” Liam says, completely unconvincingly. When Harry merely looks at him, he shrugs, adding, “It’s just that you…well, you kind of smell like Bres.”

Harry’s bark of laughter startles the others, and Jade yells “Get a fecking room!” from her place next to Louis.

After sticking his tongue out at her like a proper adult, Harry states firmly, “I don’t. I one hundred per cent don’t.”

“Okay,” Liam says. “Mine and everyone else’s noses would beg to differ, but you do you.”

Harry can’t even begin to think about what that means right now. 

He rests his head against Liam’s shoulder and there’s a pause before Harry says, “You don’t smell like anyone. Just you.”

Liam kisses his hair and Harry smiles into Liam’s shirt.

Above them the stars are bright, scattered astral clouds and clusters that blanket the sky. They burn vividly into violent hues, painting constellations and their stories millennia old. Harry wonders if he can see them so well because of the wolf or because they are far from any shining city lights. He’ll probably never know. There is a whole life now that he will never know.

The war might be over, but it’s not exactly peace, not yet. It’s getting nearer, though, he thinks. And there might just be a good reason to believe that things will get better.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say [hi :D](http://onewasturning.tumblr.com/)


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